


The Christmas Soldier

by Chianine



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Crack, Fluff, Gen, HYDRA Trash Party, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-20 05:59:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2417552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chianine/pseuds/Chianine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hydra loves their murder pet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Christmas Soldier

**Author's Note:**

> Mature rating is only for language.
> 
> Written for this prompt from the Trash Meme: _The Winter Soldier makes presents out of trash and leaves them for his handlers, lab technicians, the STRIKE team, Alexander Pierce, and other people of HYDRA._ \- which I kinda fucked up because Pierce doesn't get a present in this fic.

Christmas was a great time to make assassinations look like suicide, so every year around mid-November the Winter Soldier was brought out of cryo for a series of missions. Since he hadn't had a violent outburst in over eight years, the door to his cell was always left open and he was permitted to wander the Hydra facility like a cat in a bookstore. 

For Brock, the first sight of the Soldier napping in the hallway or going through forgotten left-overs in the break room fridge was how he knew the holidays had arrived.

The first year that they let the Soldier roam freely, he had wandered around half-naked or completely naked because his combat gear was uncomfortable. Then someone (nobody knew who) had the bright idea to give him some clothes. Now he sported some very eighties-looking pastel swim trunks with sailboats on them and a Frosty the Snowman sweatshirt with one arm cut off of it. Gretta had noticed that his toes were purple with cold so she brought some matchless socks from home and he walked around on one purple sock and one sock that said “Ho-Ho-Ho” all over it. Some joker last year (he was pretty sure it was Jack) had decided to complete the ensemble with a Hello Kitty hair barrette. When Brock saw it he took it out, thinking the poor guy was subject to enough humiliation without that fucking thing. The Soldier had looked like he was going cry, begging to have his “present” back and so what could Brock do? He pinned the stupid thing back on and the barrette became the major source of laughter for the entire six weeks the Soldier was out and about. They kept the barrette in a pencil jar in the break room, and on November 20th, when Brock was standing beside his locker, putting his jacket and lunch away, he looked over and saw it missing. That could only mean one thing. He smiled to himself and dug into his locker to find the Elmer's glue bottle he had been keeping when he heard a crunching sound behind him.

There he was, in his fabulous outfit and cheese powder all over his lips as he made his way through a bag of Doritos. That was a problem. Since everyone was so fond of the “Christmas Soldier” as they called him, he was constantly being plied with junk food and candy. Brock was worried he was going to get cavities and then Pierce would have all their asses. The worst part was that Brock had been the one who started it with a candy bar five years ago.

“Hey, buddy!” Brock smiled. “I see you're on the loose again!”

Brock lifted his open palm and was overjoyed when the Soldier remembered how to high-five with his metal hand. “Look what I got for you,” he said, presenting the glue. He leaned in and put his hand on the Soldier's shoulder, “Now you don't have to use that stuff that comes out of your dick. You're gonna dry yourself out doing that.”

The five years ago that Brock had given the Soldier that seminal candy bar, another Hydra tradition had started – receiving presents from the Soldier. Brock had been the first one. Apparently, the Soldier had been so touched by Brock's gift that he decided to make one in return – out of trash. He had gathered trash and other refuse from around the facility and created a strange little abstract piece made of neatly folded food wrappers glued to a paper plate with semen (the semen thing was figured out later and was Brock's inspiration to buy him some glue). At first he thought it was a practical joke and threw it away. When he met the Soldier in the hall, he asked Brock if he liked “it.” At first he was confused and then realized the Soldier was referring to the thing he found in his locker. He raced back to the break room and retrieved it from the trash before the janitor took it out. At home he kept it on one of those little pedestals they make for decorative plates.

Brock's was only the first gift. He started making them for other people he liked too, like the med techs that were gentle with him, the combat trainers that were especially supportive and patient, or the janitor who actually talked to him like a human being. Jack got one, probably because he always let the Soldier play candy crush on his notepad while they were in meetings.

But Brock (and he was secretly proud of this fact) remained his favorite and always got the best, most intricate gifts. The year after the plate, he got a three-foot snowman made out of cotton-balls and disinfectant wipes. Some of them were bloody, and no one knew how the Soldier had managed to collect that many. Year after that was the one with the grenade launcher theme – Jack got an XM25, Jennings, his combat trainer, got a Milkor MGL, and Brock got a Russian DP-64, which everyone knew was the Soldier's preferred launcher. The figurines were all amazingly detailed, made out of mulched newspaper and dyed black with pen ink. For weeks everyone had been blaming each other for a missing box of Bics but when the Soldier's gifts started showing up, everyone forgot about it. It was too endearing to get pissed over.

The next year was assault rifles: among others, Gretta got a Beretta, Jack got an AK-47 and Brock got an M16. Jack tried to argue that he was the Soldier's favorite now because he got the Soviet AK and the Soldier had a thing for Soviet shit but Brock told him he could go fuck himself because if there was one thing the Soldier knew it was assault rifles and the M16 was superior in every way to the AK-47 so stand down motherfucker, Brock was still the favorite. Plus, the little M16 was clearly made with more love and attention to detail. Him and Jack had stood side by side, holding their figurines in their palms, shouting at each other about the relative merits of their gifts until Jennings came by and settled it – yes, the M16 was definitely the more well-crafted present. Fucking right.

Last year was sniper rifles. Gretta got a Tac-50, Jennings got a Dragunov SVU, Lydon got a 98 Bravo, and Jack got an AS50, which was definitely cool. It was Christmas Eve before Brock got his gift – the L115A3, the fucking Aston-Martin of firearms. 

“Did I call it or did I call it? I fucking called it.” He had stuck the beautiful little figurine right under Jack's nose when it showed up in his locker. The fucker was way too pleased with his AS50.

Not everybody got weapon figurines as gifts. One of Soldier's greatest creations was the teensy janitorial cart he made for Hank, complete with windex bottle, rags, and a trash bag hanging off the side. It was too ironic that the entire thing was made of actual trash. 

The med techs he liked got empty syringes decorated with green nail polish (where did he get that from?) and broken glass, to make it sparkle everyone supposed. None of the psych techs ever got gifts because he probably hated them as much as the rest of Hydra did. 

Hank always knew what everyone was getting beforehand. The Soldier collected all of his materials in his cell and since Hank was the only one to go in there to clean, he always knew the year's theme and recipients and enjoyed teasing everyone else with clues. 

The greatest mystery of all was how he got into everyone's locker. No one had ever caught him breaking into anyone's locker, there was never any damage whatsoever, and he never took anything. They supposed that was part of what made him such a valuable weapon – he was stealthy beyond belief but everyone still wanted to catch him the same way kids always want to catch Santa in their living room. But it was always the same very year – you'd visit your locker at the end of the day and there would be your gift, mysteriously. They even staked out the entrance to the break room once. No one saw him near it, but then there were three gifts at the end of the day. Jennings' theory was that he was using the air ducts.

When he wasn't breaking into lockers or working on his presents, he would wander around the facility, visiting his favorite people and scavenging for trash. His day usually started with a visit to the medical lab, where he got his daily physical. He was poked, injected, fed some nutrient fluid through his nostrils (which seemed awful in the way it made him cough and gag) and then sent away with some sort of candy. By then the mechanic Phil had usually arrived so the Soldier would go find him to see if he needed any help. After a few hours down there he would show back up on the main floor with cookies or chips and an assortment of trash. This is when he would begin asking people if Agent Rumlow was coming to the facility that day. If the answer was no, he would return to his cell and work on his presents unless something interesting was going on in some other department. If the answer was yes or maybe, he would haunt the area around the break room until Rumlow got there to greet him.

Brock watched as the Soldier took his glue and placed it in a fanny pack he was wearing around his waist. That was new. It seemed like everyone was determined to make the dude look as ridiculous as possible. Inside of it, he could see wrappers and other junk.

“You got a carrying case now, huh?”

The Soldier nodded. “For supplies,” he said, matter-of-factly. 

Brock had been scheduled for some testing and training with a few new weapons Hydra had developed. He took the Soldier with him to meet Jennings in the shooting range and they both laughed their asses off watching the way the asset struck the target dead-center with every round he fired from his prosthetic arm even while chewing a York peppermint patty that he held in his right hand.

“Was I bad?” the Soldier asked, misinterpreting Brock and Jennings' cackles.

“No, buddy, I think you did all right.” It seemed like a waste of time and rounds “training” him. The fucker couldn't miss if he tried. “Why don't you go see if Hank needs a hand with anything.”

The Soldier disappeared from the firing range, leaving the less perfect humans to work on self-improvement.

Sitwell was arriving later that day to give everyone an overview of the Soldier's coming assignments and ask for people to volunteer to act as handlers. Brock's rapport with the Soldier was famous so he knew he was going to be expected to accompany the Soldier on as many missions as possible. 

He could hear the laughter and chatter in the crowded meeting room as he approached. What he didn't see was the mistletoe bundle lazily attached above the threshold with medical tape. When he walked into the room Gretta immediately began pointing excitedly at him. “Get him, boo! Look, there he is!” The Soldier, who was now snacking on a Ho-Ho, turned from where he stood and Brock felt sheer terror as he was rushed up to and and slammed back into the frame of the doorway by a fatal metal fist before being surprised with a sloppy and very chocolatey kiss.

“Jesus! I just saw my life flash before my eyes!” Brock said when he was released. “What kind of practical joke was that?”

“The plant means I have to kiss you,” the Soldier explained.

“Yeah,” Brock said, looking up. 

“Don't worry. You're not the only one. Yours was just much more enthusiastic.” Jasper frowned from the meeting table. Apparently his mistletoe kiss had been equally jarring. “Okay can we get started? I'm supposed to be back at the Triskelion in an hour to be brief Rogers and Romanov on a fake mission.”

After about twenty minutes of describing the people they were going to force into suicide this holiday season and reminding everyone not to leave rotting food in the break room fridge, Jasper straightened his glasses and said, “Okay now for the final item – him.” Jasper pointed at the asset, who looked up from Jack's notepad like he was in trouble. “You guys may have forgotten, but Pierce watches the video feed from this facility every day. He has stated that not once since he's been out of cryo has the Soldier been spotted without some kind of candy or other crap food.”

Brock knew this was coming.

“This isn't really a problem for his metabolism so much as his teeth. See, we don't have a dentist on Hydra payroll, so if you guys want to keep feeding him shit you're gonna need to come up with either the money to bribe a dentist or some kind of teeth-brushing schedule. Go ahead, I'm ready to take volunteers.”

Since Brock was the initiator of the entire problem he raised his hand. “I can do it in the evenings.” Then he saw a way to make this fun. “And Jack can do it every morning.”

“What the fuck?” Jack looked over at him, but Brock made a point of not making eye contact.

“Sounds good.” Jasper started gathering his papers and other stuff while other people started going into their lockers. Gretta squealed when she saw that something had been left for her. 

It was a strange little castle made of melted plastic (he must have gotten a lighter from somewhere) and bejeweled with tiny nuts and bolt washers. Clearly he was not doing firearms this year.

While everyone was still admiring the piece Jasper went into the locker assigned to him that he only ventured into a couple times a year. “What the hell is this?” he asked, pulling out a tiny sculpture.

Jack laughed. “It looks like a miniature toilet made out of asswipes and semen. Most of us get tools related to our jobs but I guess when the Soldier thinks about you he thinks about taking a dump.”

Jasper started heading over to the wastebasket but Brock grabbed him by the arm. “Hey, we don't throw those things away. You either take it home and cherish it, or leave it with us. He puts _time_ into those.”

Jasper frowned bitterly and set the thing down on the break room table. “You guys knock yourselves out.”

After Jasper was gone Jack was quiet for a while, then he said, “Do you guys think we can get him drunk if we buy him Wild Turkey and have him chug it?” After Brock gave him a disapproving look he said, “What? I'll brush his fucking teeth afterward does that make it acceptable?”


End file.
